


An Evening of Rain

by pointyshades



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Rain, joyce inner monologue i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22219474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointyshades/pseuds/pointyshades
Summary: It's raining in Martinaise, and Joyce Messier isn't looking forward to an evening alone.
Relationships: Joyce Messier/Idiot Doom Spiral
Kudos: 14





	An Evening of Rain

**Author's Note:**

> written for the disco(rd) elysium cursed fic contest, but i guess it didnt turn out that cursed in the end. anyway it's a novel experience to be the only fic written for a certain relationship haha. enjoy!

When the rain hits in Martinaise, it hits hard.

Joyce Messier grumbles about this fact to herself as she goes about furling the sails on her ship. She didn’t do it earlier, was too busy reading an intriguing book she found at the local bookstore, and now she has to pay the price. Her soft green coat is spotted with dark water, and her fingers slip as she ties the rope.

Every so often, she thinks she should hire a crew to run this thing for her. But when she does, she thinks about the image of her that would cast. The Union laborers would never settle for being arbited by a woman so rich she doesn’t even sail her own ship.

So, she continues to do the work herself. It’s not so bad. It’s good to get one’s hands dirty every so often; she’d just rather not be doing it in the rain.

“Hey,” calls a coarse voice from shore, jerking Joyce from her thoughts.

She finishes tying the knot she’s on, taking her time. Anyone who needs to speak to her can wait. Especially if it’s someone from the Union – they’ve been giving her the walkaround long enough and letting them get cold and wet would be a good start to some payback. Maybe that’s a little cruel, but Joyce likes to be good at her job. Anyone who stands in the way of that is not her friend.

At last she completes her task and makes her way to the edge of the vessel. Looking down over the wooden railing, she sees a bedraggled figure in brightly colored – and completely filthy – attire.

Something flashes in the back of Joyce’s brain. That isn’t just ANY brightly colored and completely filthy attire – that’s Lickra gear. Although the man standing before her is covered in mud, he also is – or was – very wealthy. He has a nice haircut too (she thinks, although it is plastered to his head by the rain and a bit grown out). All in all, a very paradoxical figure.

“Can I help you?” Joyce calls out.

“Yeah, I’m looking for shelter. It’s fucking pouring out here.”

She blinks. _Is a dock a logical place to look for shelter?_

“I believe there is a fishing village just over where you came from,” she begins, but he cuts her off.

“Nah, I’ve been sitting around there and drinking for the past few days, and it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. For one, it’s cold, for two, the company gets stale, and for three, I’m out of beer.”

“There is also a Frittte back in Martinaise where you could get more of that,” she replies.

He shrugs. “Not interested. Saw your nice boat, thought I’d come take a look.”

She is taken aback again, but not in a bad way. Most people are delicate around her, knowing her important negotiating status – well, everyone except that strange disco cop, but he’s a study in peculiarity all on his own. Meanwhile, the bedraggled man on the ice says things as they are. Straightforward and crude, but not wrong.  
She considers for a moment. Maybe there’s something that can be done here to improve the evening that was looking so dismal just a moment ago.

She leans on the wooden railing. “What should I call you?”

“Often,” he says, and laughs. It’s a harsh sound. “Nah, that’s just a line I would’ve used back before all this. I’m not one for eloquence now, though, unless you want to wet my whistle with some booze. Then I’ll tell you a story like you’ve never heard. My name, though? You can call me Idiot Doom Spiral.”

The name punches her in the gut, and she laughs. It feels good to laugh.

“I’m sorry, but that can’t be your given name.”

“It’s a name I gave myself, so I think it can be whatever I want.”

“But…Idiot Doom Spiral?”

“You want to hear the story behind it?” He grins, and although his face is grizzled and seems askew, she can’t resist the force behind the smile. It makes her lips twitch. He is…funny.

“Sure. I don’t have any beer, though.”

“No spirits? You must be crazy.”

“I didn’t say no spirits,” Joyce points out, “Only no beer. Don’t care for it. What I do have, though, is a few fine wines, if you’re interested.”

“If it drives the thoughts out of my head, that’s good enough for me,” Idiot Doom Spiral retorts, advancing up the steps to the ship in his ridiculous tracksuit.

Joyce laughs again, and although part of her mind is questioning what she is doing, the rest of her feels like taking a break from professionality. She welcomes Idiot Doom Spiral aboard.

With him in such close proximity, she can’t help but glance him up and down again. Under the sodden clothes and the mud, he has a sturdy build. He’s a runner, too, if the tracksuit is any indication. Joyce is not desperate for human connection - she’s perfectly happy with her books and her work - but it occurs to her that this could be an opportunity, if she chooses to take it.

He’s looking her up and down just the same. Clearly he sees the same opportunity.

Well. Joyce is nothing if not an opportunist (when the choices have no clear disadvantage). She’s been working hard to get the Union to listen to her, and she deserves a break.

“Like what you see?” asks Idiot Doom Spiral. A smile crawls from one half of his face to the other.

Joyce swoops in and kisses him.

He tastes like mud and beer. Overall, not a taste she prefers. But he kisses deftly and with passion – she can tell there’s something there. Something she might even be interested in exploring further, and with her job at a stalemate, she’ll certainly have the time. Tonight? Well, maybe not tonight. But a man out in the cold is bound to find himself in need of shelter again. For now, she will bide her time, and see what opportunities arise.

Idiot Doom Spiral grins at her when they part. For once, he doesn’t say anything, so Joyce takes the initiative.

“Please, come inside,” she says, her smile as sharp as a knife. “It’s raining out, and I don’t want to get too wet.”

“Sure,” he says, the grin still lurking around the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, just one thing,” she mentions as the two of them walk toward the cabin door.

“Yeah?”

“Before anything else…you are taking a long, _long_ bath.”


End file.
